She and Tristan would do a quickstep together, with rise and falls that traveled the length of the dance floor, along with lots of fast footwork. One night, when they rounded a corner together and started into the fast, rhythmic leg kicks, it got to be too much for her. She quickly grew lightheaded, then nauseous, as huge dark spots blotted out her vision. Instantly, she wilted, like a daisy in a sauna bath.
The next thing she knew, she woke up on an ambulance stretcher, with an oxygen mask on her face and Roger hovering above her beside an emergency technician, his smooth features contorted in panic. "Everything's going to be okay!" he barked. "Everything's going to be okay."
Bethesda, the same hospital where she'd given birth to Hayley and Matthew, wanted to keep her overnight for observation, rehydrating her, restoring her iron count and electrolytes. "You were lucky," one of the nurses told her. "The gentleman you were with broke your fall."
Stephen rushed to the hospital and stayed by her side, holding her hand. Matthew called her hospital room from Nashville, where he was working out with the Browns for a late season game against the Titans. He was glad she was okay.
Hayley was a different matter. She called from her Chicago condo and had still been at work when she received the news. Her voice took on a faintly scolding tone when she spoke to her mother. "Listen mom," she said. "You know how much I love you. It's hard for me to say this, but enough is enough. You're going to kill yourself with this 'Cinderella at the ball' act!"
When Roger and Tristan later showed up, each of them carrying a bouquet of flowers, Linda tearfully told them "I think Tris should find a new dance partner."